Touch
by thetwistedcelestials
Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just need to touch.  A series of connected ficlets, drabbles, and one-shots exploring this idea for Derek, Scott, and Stiles.  Not intended to be slash.
1. Ficlet: Scott

Title: Touch

Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just needed to touch.

Rating: PG, to be safe.

Author's note: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any part of "Teen Wolf" or its affiliated materials.

* * *

><p>It was about…touch. Scott didn't have to think about it too deeply. He never did. After his mom had passed away, Stiles just needed it. Needed to touch someone, be touched by someone. It grounded him. And Scott was always there, always ready to help in any way he could. They never talked about it; they never needed to. Stiles had always been physical, had always needed that contact.<p>

But lately, it was Scott that needed. Needed contact, needed to touch. Since…since he was bitten, all of his senses…needed. He breathed deeper, studying the layers and layers of scent. His eyes sought out the details, drinking them in. And…his skin, his hands…they craved another's touch. It wasn't about sex. Or lust. It never was, not between them. When Scott complained about how the 'study sessions' with Alison never got anywhere, because of the wolf, Stiles joked that Scott had a teen problem, not a wolf problem.

"Your libido's on overdrive," Stiles would joke, knowing it would make Scott blush. But this…this was different. Stiles didn't arouse him, didn't arouse out the wolf. Rather, Stiles' touch soothed the wolf, in ways that sometimes even Alison couldn't. Scott could never just lie in bed with Alison like this. He could never reach out and stroke her skin, nuzzle her bare neck, press his bare chest against hers, not without bringing out the wolf. She was still so new, so fascinating, a mystery to explore. A heady, intoxicating, addictive drug.

But Stiles…Stiles was familiar. Stiles' touch was soothing. Stiles…Stiles felt like home. Perhaps unconsciously, even before the wolf, he had memorized Stiles. His skin, his scent, his breath. Scott didn't crave Stiles, not the way he craved Alison. But, Scott needed Stiles, in ways he didn't need Alison. Stiles felt like home, life safety, like family. Because it was about touch. And she couldn't give him that. At least, not yet.


	2. Ficlet: Derek

Title: Touch

Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just needed to touch.

Rating: PG, to be safe.

Author's note: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any part of "Teen Wolf" or its affiliated materials.

* * *

><p>Derek needed to touch. He knew it, he knew the instinct to be close to someone, anyone, would drive him mad. When he had family, when he had Laura, he had touch. He never even needed to think about it. It was always there: hugs in the morning, wrestling in the afternoon, and sleepily tangling of limbs at night. All the wolves needed it, could sense the need in the others. When they wanted to show love, they touched. When they made up after a fight, when they celebrated, it was always with touch. Always, there was touch. Even when it was just Laura and him, Derek knew he was understood. He knew she needed it as much as he did. And it had been enough, for a while. And now, he didn't even have her.<p>

During the day, he had his mission, his revenge to focus on. Seeking vengeance was a distraction, a Gordian knot to wrestle with, to submerge his mind into. But nights, nights were agony. Nights were spent sleepless, longing to howl, to connect, to touch. Laying in the large bed, imagining his parents, sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, and aunts, all piled around him…it hurt, it physically hut. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, the echoes of memories taunting him

A lone wolf. An island. Unreachable.

Maybe that was why he was always pushing Stiles against things, grabbing him, threatening him. Maybe that's why Stiles never complained, not really. Maybe Stiles noticed how Derek would linger, noticed Derek's reluctance to move apart. And maybe that's why, one night, Stiles was just there, his arms wrapped around Derek. At night, when the hurt, the loss, the emptiness, the need to touch made Derek ache, Stiles was there, holding him, stroking his back, letting him touch, filling the emptiness.

Derek didn't know how Stiles knew. Derek didn't know why Stiles stayed. Then again, it didn't matter how or why. Derek was…grateful. He needed that touch. And he knew Stiles wouldn't ask for anything in return. And that…that alone was worth almost as much as the touch itself.


	3. Ficlet: Stiles

Title: Touch

Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just needed to touch.

Rating: PG, to be safe.

Author's note: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any part of "Teen Wolf" or its affiliated materials.

* * *

><p>Stiles didn't know how they had ended up here, the three of them a tangle of limbs, wrapped together on his bed. A wolf sandwich with him in the middle.<p>

It probably had started when Scott and Derek started arguing. The words became heated, claws extending, eyes glowing. When his words weren't enough, Stiles knew he had to intervene somehow. It wouldn't do, to come to blows. So he reached out, he touched Scott, like he had done countless times before. It was just a hand on his neck. Not trying to restrain him, just soothing the teen wolf. Stiles felt his friend lean into it, felt his heart rate drop, the wolf inside back down. And suddenly, Derek was just _there_, behind him, yearning, aching, asking, _needing_. Stiles had reached back and drew the older wolf closer, pulling Scott closer at the same time.

Shirts were shed, jeans ripped-off. And the three lay in the bed together. Skin on skin. Just touching.

He smiled at the thought of someone walking in on them. His dad, Lydia, Alison. What would they think, to see the three barely-clad, embracing males? Maybe Danny would join. But what about Jackson? Would he still want the bite, if he knew about this?

Because Stiles knew, knew without asking that the wolves needed this. They needed each other. They needed to be able to reach out and touch, to connect. They were a pack. The pack lived together, hunted together. And, being Stiles, he couldn't resist.

"So, the pack that sleeps together, stays together, eh? Kinky."

"Shut up and sleep, Stiles" came the reply.

Stiles grinned, drawing his brothers closer to him, letting sleep draw him in. They _were_ a pack. And, sometimes, they just needed to touch.

-Fin-


	4. Scott: Age Five

Scott: Age Five

Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just needed to touch.

Rating: PG, to be safe.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any part of "Teen Wolf" or its affiliated materials.

Author's note: Thanks to everyone for the positive reviews. I hope the continuations are up to your expectations. It's in a 10x100 word drabble format, because I thought it would be interesting (and it turned out to be a lot harder to write than I had anticipated). Constructive criticism and thoughts on how it fits with the original trilogy would be appreciated.

* * *

><p>"~A, B, C, D…~"<p>

"Is that what you learned at preschool, honey?" Scott's mom asked.

"Yes! But I forget what comes next." Scott smiled at his mom happily. His dad had promised they could have dinner together. Scott's dad worked all the time, so he was excited. "What's for dinner, mommy?"

Scott's mom smiled back at her son. "Well, I was thinking we could make Dad's favorite."

"Chicken pot pies?"

Scott's mom laughed. "No, silly. That's _your_ favorite."

Scott shrugged. Who didn't like his mom's pie? Oh well. Potatoes and steak were pretty good too. "Can I help cook today?"

* * *

><p>"Okay! I'm done!" Scott held up the potatoes. He had scrubbed them extra good, 'cause his daddy was coming home for dinner.<p>

"Wow, great job honey. Do you think you can set the table for us?"

Scott dashed into the dining room as the phone rang. Scott's mom picked it up. As he set the table, Scott listened to his mom talking.

"What? But you promis-"

"I know! I know you have a promotion coming up, but-"

"What about your promise to Scott?"

"Fine."

"Scott, honey? That was your father…"

Scott sighed. His dad wasn't coming home for dinner. Again.

* * *

><p>"This is the third night in a row! When is this going to change?"<p>

Scott listened to his parents talk on the phone. They were arguing again.

"Well, you're never here! Isn't our _family_ important?"

"What's the point of being in charge? Why is that so much more important than your wife? Than your _son?"_

"No, don't you hang up on me! Don't you-"

Scott heard his mom put the phone down. She was making little sounds. The ones she made when she didn't want him to know she was crying.

She stopped when Scott gave her a bear hug.

* * *

><p>"Hey buddy." Scott didn't turn around, pretending to be asleep. He heard his dad sigh in the doorway.<p>

The soft tread of his footsteps moving towards Scott's bed blended in with the chirping crickets. The rustle of a wrapped package was set next his bed.

Scott stiffened when his dad touched his shoulder. Another sigh and his dad whispered. "Sorry Scott. Happy birthday, kiddo." A gentle squeeze, more footsteps and the light from the hallway dimmed as the door closed.

Scott pouted, still feeling the warmth from the hand on his shoulder. It wasn't fair.

* * *

><p>"You're never home!"<p>

"You know how much this job takes!"

"Do you know how much this _family_ takes?"

"What do you want me to _do_? Do you know how much this house _costs_?"

"What's the point of having this house, if it's _empty_?"

"You have Scott!"

"But Scott doesn't have his _father_!"

"What do you want me to _do_?"

Quiet again. "…I want you here."

Softly. "…you know we can't afford that."

"We could make it work. I could take more shifts. You could find another job…"

An admission. "…this isn't what I want."

"…well. I guess that's it then."

* * *

><p>They had finished arguing. In some ways, the quiet was worse than the shouting. Scott found his mom, alone, in the living room.<p>

"Hey honey," she greeted him with a tired smile.

Silently, he crawled into her lap, wrapping her arms around him. Tucking his head under her chin, he asked, "Are you and daddy okay?"

Her hands kept petting his hair, but he could feel her breath catch. "Scott, honey, you know your dad and I love you very much, right?"

Scott hugged her tight. "I love you, too, Mommy."

* * *

><p>Scott's mom was standing, a suitcase next to her. She spoke, but he wasn't listening. He just looked at the suitcase. It had wheels and a handle to pull it along. It was bright red; the color was cheerful. But Scott knew.<p>

"Scott, are you listening to me?"

Scott's eyes flickered to his mom, but looked away again. He didn't want to hear. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to know she was moving.

He heard her sigh. "I'll be back in a couple of months for you. Be good for your father. I love you."

* * *

><p>"Behave yourself in school today, Scott."<p>

Scott looked up at his dad, dressed in his suit, ready for work.

"Come straight home after school."

His dad acted like nothing was wrong. Like the world hadn't just ended.

"I might not be home for dinner, so make sure the sitter heats up your dinner."

How could he act like this? Why didn't he care? He stared at his father. "When is mom coming home?"

His father paused; he sighed and looked back at his son. "She's preparing a home for you two. It's for the best, son." _It was, wasn't it?_

* * *

><p>"This is your room. You'll be starting kindergarten next week, at the local school." Melissa watched her son carefully, as he explored. The inherited house was a boon. She wondered why she had kept it, but was glad she had.<p>

"So, what do you think Scott?"

She was nervous. What did he think? Better to ask what he felt.

"Daddy didn't want us."

"…Scott…"

"I think I'm going to like it here." Scott gave her a small smile. "We'll be okay." _Won't we?_

Melissa smiled back at him. "Yes, we will." _I'll make sure of it._

* * *

><p>Scott and his new friend were playing in the family room. The boy's parents chatted in the dining room, keeping an eye on the kids. They chatted a about little things, everyday things. Mrs. Stilinski, a small business owner, promised to introduce Melissa to some of the neighbors. Melissa asked Deputy Stilinski about the town. Still feeling each other out, looking at how their boys played.<p>

Melissa was relieved Scott made a friend. Genmin seemed like a good boy: energetic, sweet, outgoing. He balanced Scott's shyness, brought him out of his shell.

_I think we will be okay._


	5. Stiles: Age Five

Stiles: Age Five

Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just needed to touch.

Rating: PG, to be safe.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any part of "Teen Wolf" or its affiliated materials.

Author's note: I'd be interested to hear thoughts on whether the details fit into canon, whether the tone and format fit in with the original trio, and whether the characters stay in-character (given their ages). A 10x100 for Derek is in the works, to wrap up this second trio.

* * *

><p>"Hon, you're gonna need to watch the syrup."<p>

"But I need some sugar." She rolled her eyes at his cheesy line, but leaned back into his embrace anyways.

"Ewwww! What are you guys doing?"

They both looked up at their young son. With a grin, she watched her husband tackle their little boy.

"Oh, you think that's gross do you? What about this?" The boy shrieked in delight as his father turned him upside down and blew raspberries onto his bare tummy.

Just another typical Sunday morning in the Stilinski household.

"Boys, the waffles are done. You ready for breakfast?"

* * *

><p>"…and the big, bad wolf asked…"<p>

"But California doesn't have wolves."

"Stiles, they aren't in California."

"Then why are reading about them?"

"Because it's a story."

"But how can the wolf talk?"

"He's a special wolf."

"If the wolf is hungry, why doesn't he eat Red Riding Hood? And how do we know he's bad? And why does he like to dress up as grandma? And how did they survive the stomach?"

"…Stiles, do you want a bed time story or not?"

"Don't we have any stories that make sense?"

Stiles' dad sighed as Stiles' smiled. _This happens every time…_

* * *

><p>"Genmin James Stilinski, if you don't sit your butt down, I swear I'm going to staple you to the chair!"<p>

Stiles grinned up at his mother. "Then I'll wriggle out of my pants."

She had spent the last five minutes trying to trim his hair. He had spent the last five minutes doing everything he could to keep her from doing it, even though his hair covered his eyes.

His mom stared at him. He stared back. She grinned. Stiles knew that grin.

"Noooooo!" Stiles tore away, laughing, right into his dad's arms.

"Alright, Cousin It, time for your haircut."

* * *

><p>They swayed in time to the music. Their living room was as good as a dance hall. Humming together, they smiled happily at each other.<p>

Stiles watched his parents from the stairs, listening to their song. He smiled, watching them dance. It was their time, but he liked to see them so happy.

His mom would murmur something as his dad whispered into her hair. Occasionally, his dad might twirl her slowly. Or his mom might spin his dad around a few times.

It made him happy, to see his parents happy.

* * *

><p>Stiles squirmed in his seat. His dad squeezed his shoulder. "You okay, son?"<p>

Stiles was silent for a moment. That meant he was really worried. "What if I don't make any friends? Why do I have to go to school? Can't I stay at home? What if everyone hates me? What if I'm slow? What if…"

His dad gave his shoulder another comforting squeeze. "Not gonna happen, kiddo."

Stiles took a deep breath and got out of the car. He grabbed his dad's hand as they walked to school. Kindergarten. Maybe…maybe he would make some new friends. He could hope.

* * *

><p>Stiles gaped as the vase seemed to fall in slow motion. His hand reached out, to try and catch it before it fell.<p>

The vase shattered.

"…Genmin James Stilinski, that had better not be what I think it is."

He looked up at his mother guiltily as she sighed.

"How many times have I told you not to play careful around that vase?"

"…I'm sorry Momma."

She kissed him on the head gently. "You gotta be careful, kiddo. Now, go sit in the corner to think about that."

That vase had been her favorite wedding gift. Time for the super glue.

* * *

><p>"Stiles, honey. What would you think of us adding to our family?"<p>

"Would you like a little brother or sister?"

"A baby brother! We should get a baby brother! Or no, a baby sister, cause then I won't have to share. Actually, no, I want a puppy! Let's get a puppy!" He jumped on his parents' laps, wriggling with excitement as he asked them about a puppy.

"We should have known he was going to ask for a puppy." She squeezed his hand in response, giving Stiles a hug with her other hand.

* * *

><p>"Fine!"<p>

"Fine!"

Stiles winced as a door slammed. He crept downstairs. He found his father putting sheets on the couch. Silently, he handed his dad a pillow. His dad nodded his thanks before falling into the makeshift bed. Stiles clambered next to him, giving his dad a hug.

Hugging him back, his dad sighed. "Sorry we kept you awake."

Stiles looked up at his dad. "I love you, Daddy."

His dad gave him another hug. "Love you too, kiddo. Remind your mom to take her medication, okay?"

Stiles returned his dad's hug before padding upstairs to sit with his mom.

* * *

><p>Stiles mom found fresh flowers on her bedside table when she woke up.<p>

Stiles dad found a homemade lunch ready for him at work.

Stiles' parents made dinner together that evening, singing along to the radio.

Stiles knew that his parents had made up. It made him smile.

He made sure to give them both big hugs.

* * *

><p>Stiles tackled the new kid with a hug. "New kid! We can be friends! I'm Genmin, but you can call me Stiles 'cause it's easier to say. What's your name? When'd you move? Do you like it here?"<p>

The new kid looked at the kid wrapped around him. "I'm Scott. I just moved in last week. Um…I guess it's okay."

"Do you want to be friends?"

"Okay. Do you want to come over after school?"

"Yes!"

"Yay! Since we're friends, you're like my new brother, so we don't have to get another brother, so we can get a puppy now!"


	6. Derek: Age Ten

Derek: Age Ten

Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just needed to touch. A chapter for Derek, written as 10x100.

Rating: PG, to be safe.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any part of "Teen Wolf" or its affiliated materials.

Author's note: I'd be interested to hear thoughts on whether the details fit into canon, especially if the characters stay in-character (given their ages). Thanks for the feedback so far. I hope you all continue to enjoy this collection.

* * *

><p>"…Derek?"<p>

The lump on the bed grunted. The little boy jumped as another bolt of lightning flashed.

"Derek? Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Another grunt.

"Well, Laura said she's studying, so she's not ready for bed yet, and James is already sharing with Chrissy, and mom and dad are still up talking with Uncle Peter, so…"

An arm shot out from under the blankets and pulled the boy under.

"…thanks Derek. Love you."

Derek pulled his six-year-old brother closer, tucking the blankets back around them. "Love you too, runt. Now go to sleep. I have training in the morning."

* * *

><p>"Derek! Focus!"<p>

Derek sighed. "I am focusing. It's just boring."

Laura rolled her eyes. "Right. Is that why you keep falling behind?"

Derek sent a glare at his sister.

"Oh, glare all you want. I know it's just because you're worried you couldn't keep up if you really tried."

"Laura…" James said warningly. Laura just winked at him.

Derek growled softly. "I'll show _you _who can't keep up."

"Well, well, little bro. Is that a challenge?" Laura grinned, a glint in her eyes. "Then let's roll."

Their father shook his head; she was going to make a strong Alpha someday.

* * *

><p>"Derek! Laura! James!" Their younger brother dashed out the porch as they approached, tackling Derek. His sister, a year older, followed closely at his heels.<p>

"Look! Look!" They shouted, pulling their older siblings closer together. Both of their eyes flashed blue momentarily.

Laura and James laughed, hugging the younger ones.

"Well, it looks like you two are almost ready to join us in training. Think you can keep up?" Derek asked, ruffling his brother's hair.

Sam responded with a playful growl, pulling Derek into their group hug. "You had better be ready to eat my dust."

* * *

><p>Eleven candles burned cheerfully. Derek stared at the cake, stared at the flames, waiting for his chance to put them out and eat Dad's famous chocolate cake with caramel swirls. His mouth watered in anticipation.<p>

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled with all his might. Soon, conversation picked up again about the upcoming gathering.

"It's going to be your cousin's first full change."

Laura gave him a one-armed hug. "You're getting close to yours too, Derek. Maybe you'll be able to keep up with me then, huh?"

Derek smiled at her, mouth full of cake. He was excited too.

* * *

><p>His Uncle Peter growled defiantly. "That sounds like a terrible idea."<p>

Mom growled back. "Brother, you _know_ what those hunters are capable of. If they really have moved into town…"

Dad placed a hand on both their shoulders, squeezing gently. They both visibly relaxed at the touch. Taking a deep breath, Mom began again. "Those hunters moving here is not a coincidence. We need to protect our family."

Uncle Peter shook his head. "But a preemptive attack?" Uncle Peter abhorred unnecessary violence.

Derek listened to their debate, frowning. Why had the hunters moved to town? Who were they?

* * *

><p>A rustle to the left, footsteps on the right. The figure paused for a moment, assessing his surroundings. Where did his pack go?<p>

Another rustle, closer this time. He tensed, waiting to pounce or run. They were getting closer. And they might outnumber him. Should he try to take one out or just run for it? They probably could smell him already. He took a deep breath, tried to figure out what to do.

A shadow fell from above, followed by a louder thump. "Ow!" Derek smiled. Sam must have dropped on Jeff! He jumped forward, tackling his cousin. "Charge!"

* * *

><p>Laughing and still wrestling, the kids came out of the woods, the waxing moon shining down on them. The adults were still out, testing each other. Someday, they might have that much endurance too.<p>

"Man, I'm starving." Derek exclaimed.

Laughing, his cousins teased him about his appetite eating away all of the Hale inheritance. "There's not going to be anything left!" Derek laughed with them.

"C'mon, everyone. Let's put some food together." Laura, of course, the oldest of the kids, always taking charge.

"Let's barbecue!"

"No, let's roast something!"

"Both!"

"Yeah!"

* * *

><p>"Uncle Peter, why don't you have a mate?"<p>

Derek's Uncle Peter didn't move, but his shoulders tensed. Derek waited quietly, unsure if his uncle was angry.

"Derek." His uncle cleared his throat. "The…the Hunters took her away."

"Oh." _Oh…_

They sat in silence.

"I hate them. I wish they all die." Derek said suddenly.

His Uncle Peter sighed. "Derek, no. Don't hate them."

"But…"

"No. We'll fight them when needed, but they're people. Don't sink to hate."

Derek chewed his lip. How could he not?

Uncle Peter sighed again. "Hatred blinds us, Derek. Remember that. And we need to see."

* * *

><p>Derek was currently sandwiched between two of his cousins, though his youngest cousin was still having a tickle battle with Sammy. Chrissy was on top of the four of them, squirming as she tried to find a comfortable position.<p>

Laura and James, being the oldest, were on opposite ends of the bed, though they were chatting over the tussle.

Derek grinned to himself, helping Chrissy shift around (again). He liked it when his cousins came to visit; it felt natural, to have his family surrounding him. Safe. He rearranged Chrissy so she was curled-up, her head on his chest, before letting himself drift to sleep.

* * *

><p>A hush fell over the clearing. The moon called out to each of them, pulling the older Hale's through the shift. All their attention focused on the gathered family at the meadow's center.<p>

Her first full shift.

Derek drew Chrissy and Sam closer, leaning back into his family, the reassuring warmth as they all watched. A hand, his dad's, squeezed his shoulder gently.

There was a growl from his cousin. Soothing hands stroked arms, back, face. Bones shifted, her heart rate increased. She finally looked up, eyes glowing bright blue, fully emerged as a Beta.

And the pack howled.


	7. Cuddling with Claws Out

Cuddling with Claws Out

Summary: Sometimes, the werewolves just needed to touch.

Rating: PG-13, to be safe.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any part of "Teen Wolf" or its affiliated materials.

Author's note: My first attempt at trying to write Scott while he's fully wolfed-out. I'm taking the liberty of saying that the moon's power affects werewolves for three nights. This is the first half of an expansion of "Ficlet: Scott." I'm still tweaking the second chapter. So, what do you think? How is the dialog? I appreciate any constructive criticism. Thanks for reading; I'm enjoying your comments.

Edit (11-17-2011): I changed the ending a bit. I think the reviews of the original were right, that the ending was a little easy and simple.

* * *

><p>"Okay. Okay. Okay…" Stiles kept checking the chains nervously. Scott could hear his friend's heartbeat rising. It was the second night of the full moon, the second they were going through together. "Okay…" he repeated again.<p>

Scott huffed at him. "Yes, I think we're okay. Jeez."

Stiles glared weakly at the chained up werewolf. While Scott felt like he was a little more in control after talking with Derek last night ago, he was still on edge. It was like the filter that kept him from doing whatever he wanted was wearing thin. He bit his tongue against saying any more, though the desire to lash out grew. Why did he need to be chained? What was wrong with taking what others weren't strong enough to hold onto? If Stiles wanted to defend his interest then…

Scott shook his head against his instincts. Stiles didn't like this anymore than Scott did. He might even hate it more than Scott. Not that the werewolf could blame him, especially not after Lydia…

The wave of guilt from that memory helped Scott calm down. A little, at least. Not enough. He rattled the chains in irritation. Scott was allowing the heavier chains tonight. Whether they were going work though…

Scott growled faintly. He felt the spike In Stiles' heart rate, but Scott's attention was on the window. The moon's light crept into the room, like pale, molten silver. He watched it warily, watched it come closer, bringing with it temptation and power. Regret seemed far away when he was in the moon's lull. So close…

It finally penetrated Scott's consciousness that Stiles was talking to him. Babbling really. "…and I think these'll hold this time, but I really don't know and why the heck isn't Derek around here? I mean, seriously, that guy is all 'be careful on the full moon' and then he just ditches us to fend for ourselves. What else does he have to do? Wouldn't it be a better way to burn off the moon's effects if the two of you just fought it out? Though I guess that would be expensive in food, not to mention trying to explain all the tears in your clothing, though it seems like being a werewolf seems to come with a weird allergy to clothes. Have you noticed how you seem to lose clothes a lot more after being bitten? And another thing…"

Scott tuned out again, watching the moonlight glide towards him. Unconsciously, he shifted towards it, the fear of the transformation ebbing away in the wash of power, the call to freedom. He pushed against the chains, straining them, wanting, the freedom, to run, to hunt to…

Gentle fingers carded through his hair. Vision narrowed, his head snapped towards the touch. He looked at it curiously. _What was this creature? _He tilted his head, trying to understand the frail creature in front of him, touching him. A deep inhalation of a familiar scent sparked the glimmerings of a memory.

The fingers kept moving through his hair, with meaningless yet incessant sounds coming from the creature. It smelled fearful, yet instead of running, it (he?) continued the stroking. Leaning forwards, the wolf breathed the creature's scent in more deeply, growling at its restraints. Looking down, he found something holding him, keeping him from moving. He struggled against the bindings as they rattled. The creature moved its ministrations to the bindings. Was he going to set the wolf free? Growling low, the wolf saw the hands were not trying to free him. The growl rumbled in his chest, as a glare shifted to this creature. Was he responsible for this? Baring his teeth, muscles tensed to leap towards the creature.

But the hands returned to their petting, gently massaging the wolf's neck. The growl in its chest lessened, changing slightly. The wolf could not deny the familiarity of the creature's touch and scent. It was almost recognizable…familiar…like…yes…like a pack mate.

Leaning forward, straining again, the wolf bumped his head against one of the creature's limbs. His tongue came out, to taste the creature. A gasp was ignored, as he licked and nosed the exposed skin. The wolf's nose twitched as an odd scent hit him. He sneezed abruptly, trying to rid himself of the strange, unnatural scent. He growled in disfavor, but underneath…yes…something familiar.

The wolf growled again, until the petting continued.

His attention returned to tasting and smelling. He lapped at the creature, nose finding the extra scents released – a warm spiciness, a high sweetness, a clear woodsy smell. Yes, the scent was of a close pack mate, one that he had known since even before he was a pup.

He turned his head, leaning into a soothing scratching along his scalp. The wolf let his head fall onto his chest. The scent and taste were telling – this was a pack mate, however odd the creature seemed. He would protect the wolf. The wolf allowed himself to relax and be vulnerable. Sleep began stealing over him, the sounds from his pack mate seeming more familiar. The gentle rubbing continued, lulling the wolf to sleep.

His pack mate shifted, so he was leaning against the wolf's side, though he continued the massage. Gently, the wolf nuzzled his pack mate's neck, breathing deep the familiar scent that spoke of security, of trust, of home. A warm pressure on top of his head told him his friend returned his affections. The massage slowed with his pack mate's heart beat and breathing. A contented rumble buzzed in the wolf's chest, as he allowed himself to follow his pack mate into slumber.

* * *

><p>Scott woke slowly. It was a Saturday, so he could sleep in. <em>Mmm…sleep.<em> He shifted closer to the warmth pressed against his head.

_Clink._

Frowning, Scott shifted again. _What's that clinking? _His head slowly cleared, as the events of the night before slowly filtered back into his brain. There was something about the full moon and petting, and Stiles looking nervous? Scott blinked his eyes blearily, looking down at the chains wrapped around him . And Stiles…slumped over him…

Scott's eyes jumped open.

Heart racing, Scott struggled against his chains. Why was Stiles slumped over? Was he hurt? Did Scott try to hurt him again? Was he okay? He struggled harder against the chains, needing to check if his friend was okay. Scott raked his eyes over his best friend. _Any injuries?_ _Blood? _

"Stiles! Stiles! Are you okay?" Scott took a deep breath. _Can I smell any blood?_ He strained his ears to listen to the heartbeat. The rush of blood in his own ears kept distracting him.

"Mmmf…wha?"

Stiles started to stir. That's a good sign, right?

"Stiles! Are you okay? Did I…did I hurt you?"

Stiles scrubbed at his eyes, lifting himself up from the chains, wrinkling his nose at the drool he left on them. He blinked bemusedly at Scott. "Wha…? Oh, good, the chains worked."

Scott stopped struggling. Right, the chains. _If I'm still chained up, I couldn't have hurt him. _Sighing in relief, Scott slumped back and tried to remember what _had _happened. Stiles stood up, stretching his arms above his head. He winced as bones in his back cracked.

"Damn, I have a kink in my neck." The teen twisted his neck to work out some of the soreness "How do you feel?"

Scott frowned. He felt…normal. "Um. Normal?" _As normal as a teen werewolf could feel_. "I thought the full moon was supposed to still affect me?"

Stiles watched Scott._ He's trying to see if I'm still whacked-out by the moon._ Scott held Stiles' eyes, trusting his best friend's judgment. _It's a hell of a lot better than mine…_ He winced at the memory of Alison and Jackson. Or Lydia and the coach's office.

Stiles must have decided Scott was okay, because he leaned down with a groan to undo the chains wrapped around him. "Let's talk over breakfast, dude. Man, I'm starving!"

* * *

><p>Scott showered quickly, slipping into a clean jeans and a shirt. He headed downstairs to start breakfast while Stiles took a shower. Pulling eggs from the fridge, he saw a note on the fridge told him his mom was sleeping after her night shift, so the two of them were on their own for breakfast. He went back to the fridge and pulled out some vegetables and cheese to make an omelet. As he cooked, Scott tried to remember last night.<p>

_Gentle fingers carded through his hair._

_He licked and nosed the exposed skin._

_The scent was of a close pack mate, one that he had known since even before he was a pup._

Scott frowned at the flashes of memory. He remembered feeling agitated by the chains. But his wolf had recognized a packmate and had relaxed. Stiles came down the stairs as Scott started on the second omelet.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Scott handed Stiles the first omelet, not sure how to bring up his wolf's reaction to Stiles' petting last night. "So…um…what happened last night? I remember bits. Like, you petting me?"

Stiles looked up, mouth already full of omelet. "Wahl…" Stiles frowned, then chewed and tried again.  
>"Well, we chained you up. And then, you wolfed out on me and started to struggle with the chains." He took a bite of the omelet, swallowing before speaking again. "And dude, so freaking glad we used the extra heavy chains this time. Anyways, I tried to calm you down and, I dunno, I just tried petting you and you seemed to like the petting. Kept growling at me when I stopped. And, dude, you were, like, licking and sniffing at me. Like a dog."<p>

"Yeah, I, uh, kind of remember that." Scott felt himself turning red. He focused on finishing the second omelet before joining Stiles at the table. He left the omelet ingredients on the counter. _I should make one for mom, too_.

"So…um…I think my wolf kind of recognized you."

"Wha?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know, dude. It's like there was a giant sign around you, that just screamed FRIEND!"

"Dude! Awesome! I've been reading up about this whole 'pack' thing, since the Alpha keeps trying to get you to get rid of us or whatever."

Scott winced. "Sorry…"

Stiles waved his hand. "Whatever, we'll deal with it. But, like, if you recognize me as your packmate, then maybe your wolf won't try to kill me. As much. I mean, unless the Alpha orders you to or something. Which, seriously, that guy has issues."

Scott nodded, pretending like Stiles was making sense. If he listened long enough, Scott was usually able to catch up with what Stiles was thinking (or, by then, something was going horribly wrong and Scott could focus on fixing it). "Maybe we should ask Derek about it?"

Stiles glared at him for the suggestion. "Do you just like hurting me?"

Scott winced. He kept forgetting that Stiles didn't much like the older werewolf; something about feeling threatened and unfairly disregarded. "Sorry…"

Stiles huffed, but waved Scott's apology away. "So, this is a good development. I'm going to need to look some more stuff up. But meet me at my place tonight. I have an idea."

Scott groaned in his head; he had learned to dread Stiles' ideas.

* * *

><p>"And it's not like it's the first time we've done it."<p>

"Stiles."

"And I'll keep a fire extinguisher close by."

"Stiles."

"Hey, it worked pretty well last time."

"Stiles! This is a bad idea. Like, even worse than the firecracker incident. And that was already really bad." Years ago, Stiles had an idea to see if they could use firecrackers for a homemade rocket ship. Things didn't end well. A fire extinguisher was heavily involved in that idea as well. "The chains worked last night, so let's just do that again."

Stiles shook his head. "No. You need to learn to control this. We can't keep chaining you up every night. What if you're caught without a convenient place to chain up sometime? What if someone walks in on you? And probably me, because I'm awesome, so you'll drag me into that mess. I am _so _not going to have _that_ conversation with my dad. 'No dad, really, we're not into bondage, I just chained Scott up so he wouldn't go crazy and try to kill things at night. Why, yes I do think that looks like a nice white jacket, but no, I don't think I'd like to try it on, doctor.'"

"Stiles! You could get hurt! This. Is. A. Bad. Idea!" Stiles wanted to see if Scott could go through a full moon, wolfed out without trying to kill Stiles. He said that, if Scott had recognized him as a packmate, then he would be safe. Scott wasn't willing to take the risk and they were running out of time to get the chains ready.

"Scott." Scott felt Stiles grab his shoulders. "You've been around me all day, right? Do you still feel as crazy as before?"

Scott had to admit that, no, he wasn't feeling as wild as the first night. The wolf was still just at the edge of his consciousness, just under his skin. He could feel it prowling, anxious, so close to the full moon. But something about being around Stiles was keeping him in check. Not like Alison, who kept the wolf from coming out entirely. But Stiles helped keep it focused, calm. Scott eyes fluttered closed involuntarily as Stiles gently stroked his neck. Scott hummed at the touch, his wolf soothed by the familiar touch.

"See? You're totally going to be my lapdog." Scott growled at the jab, but leaned in as Stiles gently ran fingernails along his scalp. "Scott, look at me." Scott reluctantly opened his eyes, meeting his best friend's warm brown eyes.

"You were there for me, you know, when…when I lost my mom." Stiles dropped his gaze, looking at his feet. "And you stayed with me, those first few weeks, when my dad had to work late as the Sheriff, you let me hold you like a giant teddy bear. And…and I just need to help." Stiles' voice dropped-off as he finished.

Scott sighed, pulling his friend into a hug. He held on tight, gently stroking his best friend's back. "Alright."

* * *

><p>His pack mate was tiring. The wolf could still smell some nervousness, some fear in him, but it was mixed with sweat and playful curiosity. Smiling widely, the wolf feinted left before tackling again, pinning his pack mate down, careful not to scratch. Whining softly, he licked the wounds that had caused a distressed sound earlier. His pack mate was so fragile. But fun!<p>

Turning away to the window, he scratched at it again, whining. He wanted to run! To feel the breeze! Why were they still inside?

His packmate sighed, trying to pull him away from the window. He growled in frustration, feeling the energy buzzing underneath his skin. He nipped at the hands pulling at him, going back to the window. He stared at the moon, the outdoor scents slipping into his nose, tantalizing him, enticing him, calling him out.

Suddenly, another scent spiked the air: a strong scent, familiar yet threatening. His growl deepened, as he felt the call. A phantom ache from his side reacted to the scent, to the call sent deep into his blood. He tried to resist, but his Alpha was calling him. Ordering him.

Attack…

He turned, lured into the call.

Attack…kill..packmate…

He whined at the order, trying to shake it off even as it grew stronger. He fought it, the scent of his packmate battling with the call of his Alpha. _Packmate. _Kill_. Packmate! _Kill_. PACKMATE. _Kill packmate…

The scent of fear grew and grew, making it harder to fight the call. Even as part of him wanted to comfort his packmate, the call grew stronger, the phantom ache in his side driving him. He stalked forward, lowering into a hunting stance. Kill…packmate…

_No!_

But it was useless. He could see the fear, taste it in the air. His prey's eyes widened, backing away from the wolf. But it had nowhere to go.

…_get away…window…_

The wolf moved forward, away from the window, circling towards his prey, watching him move slowly to match the wolf, ignoring the quiet jingling of metal on metal. Licking his lips in anticipation, savoring the scent of fear (_…no…packmate…_), he readied himself to leap on his prey.

The prey threw something at him and the wolf ducked, dodging easily. The faint breeze and scents of the outdoors made him growl; looking up, he growled louder when he saw his prey slipping outside. Howling in frustration, he leapt forward, but too slow to catch anything. He scrambled outside as the pale boy dropped off the roof. A familiar roar (_…good…escape…_) filled his ears and he leapt down. He could smell the prey, the scent of fear mixed with a powerful scent of rubber and gas. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he gave chase.

* * *

><p><em>Oh god, oh god…I'm going to die. Because of Scott. What the hell has my life become? <em>Stiles didn't know what had happened. At first, Scott had seemed fine (_Oh man, if I survive this, Scott is never going to let me live this mistake down…wait, how is that even relevant? When did near-death experiences become so blasé?)_ then out-of-the-blue with the growling and the teeth and the incredible implication of the rending of the flesh. Stiles pressed down harder on the gas. _Seriously, what the hell?_

Turning into the woods, Stiles fervently prayed to anyone or anything listening that Derek was home. With the racket they were making, Stiles would have been surprised if Derek didn't _hear_ them coming. _Oh, please, please let that damn werewolf hearing be good for something other than creepy stalker eavesdropping._

Something thudded on the roof of his car and the sound of claws scraping against metal told Stiles what (_Or who…_) it was. He swerved to the right and left, trying to shake the werewolf from his car. _Damn it…almost there…_

The window to his right shattered, as a deep growl sent shivers down his spine. Amazingly, Stiles managed to keep the car straight on the road and just kept speeding towards that burned out husk of a home. _If the drive doesn't kill me, my dad is going to. I'm just lucky there aren't any stoplights down this way. _Claws reached inside, tearing at his car's seats, catching on his arm as the claws swung wildly. Muffling a shout, he pressed harder on the gas. Thankfully, the Derek's house came into view just as it looked like the werewolf was going to try to get into the car.

Slamming on the brakes, Stiles flung his door open and hurdled towards the house. "Derek! Help!" Stiles screamed. _Damn it Derek, you had better be home! I did _not _drive all this way and have my baby all scratched up for you to leave me for dead!_

* * *

><p>The sudden stop pulled at the wolf's shoulders. Whining in pain, he shook his head as he healed. Something gave him pause. Sniffing the air, he whined again. An older, more dominant wolf's scent clung to the air.<p>

Kill…

The order came again but the phantom pain in his side was weakening. Hesitant in the territory of a stronger wolf, he sighted on his prey (_Packmate…!)._ Growling again, he tackled the running figure. They rolled and tumbled in the dirt and leaves. Both panting, the wolf straddled the boy and pinned him down with one paw on his chest. He raised his other paw to finish the job, when a familiar voice called out to him.

Staring down at the boy (_Packmate!_), the wolf's eyes glowed amber. The moon's energy soared beneath his skin, but something made him stop. He titled his head as familiar hand stroked his sides, chest, and neck. A soothing litany surrounded him, coming from the creature, drowning out the weakening echoes of his Alpha. He lowered his paw slowly, leaning down. Something about the scent seemed…familiar. Breathing deeply, he scented. Beneath the soil, sweat, and fear he smelled…

A warm spiciness. A gentle sweetness. A clear woodsy smell.

_PACKMATE!_

Whining softly, he nuzzled his pack mate. Why was his packmate so distressed? He pressed his face against his packmate's cheek, rubbing and licking gently, trying to calm him with a familiar scent. A pleased rumble played in his chest as hands stroked his back. Scenting blood, he lifted his face and traced the bare torso and arms until he found shallow claw marks, still bleeding. Whining softly again, he began licking the wounds, pressing a paw down to keep his packmate from slipping away, ignoring the protests. His packmate was safe.

* * *

><p>"Oh, gross! Scott! Scott! Stop licking me!" Stiles tried to wriggle away, but Scott just held him down with one hand. His cuts tingled a little under the licking, but the stinging was going away. Sighing in defeat, Stiles just let him finish. He buried his free hand in Scott's curls, gently kneading to hide the shaking. His heartbeat was slowly coming down, though he still felt like he was going to have a heart attack. <em>What a way to end the night<em>…

When Scott decided he was finished licking Stiles wounds (_Gross…effective, but gross._), Scott plopped down, looking like he was going to fall asleep on Stiles. Not having any of that, Stiles pushed Scott off him, ignoring the tired growls coming from the wolf. Despite the long night, sleeping outdoors without a shirt didn't sound very appealing. He went to his car and turned the engine off. Looking over at Scott, still sprawled out on the forest floor, Stiles decided it might not be a good idea to head back to his place. _Not until we figure out what happened_.

Thankfully, Stiles found he still had a sleeping bag in the trunk of his car from a summer camping trip with his dad. _Ha, procrastination wins again!_ Pulling it out, he headed back over to where Scott was laying down. Unrolling it, Stiles pulled himself inside. Scott scooted over, snuggling closer.

Stiles had to laugh at how ridiculous this must have looked. With luck, Derek wouldn't be back before they woke-up. "Night Scott. Sleep well. If you try to kill me again, try not to wake me up, okay?" Maybe he should have been more worried, but something about Scott and this place seemed...relaxed and safe. Laughing tiredly to himself again, Stiles let himself drift off to sleep, Scott curled up next to him.


	8. This is normal

This is normal

Author's notes: I'm still working on figuring out when to use the third-person narration versus actually putting narration as a character's thoughts. I mixed in some flashbacks with the reflections, so that probably added to the confusion. Readers, could you please point out parts of the chapter that seem confusing? Thank you!

Thanks for the reviewers so far. I tried to send a PM response to each of you. Thanks so much for reviewing! Thanks to everyone for reading.

Edit (11/17/2011): I've edited this a bit, to try to make the transitions and timeline a little clearer. Please let me know if you can tease out what's going on.

Spoiler warning: The present chapter contains some spoilers for the "Lunatic" and "Night School."

* * *

><p>The hug was normal. Stiles shifted back slightly, pressing the coldest parts of his body towards the warmth. Scott always gave good hugs. They had been hugging each other since they were, like, five. Stiles, still feeling the effects of the fever, thought back to a few weeks ago, after that second full moon.<p>

* * *

><p>When Stiles walked into school the day after the full moon, Scott gave him a huge grin and a hug. Not a fake hug, none of those across-the-shoulders, leaning away from each other "hugs" that people seemed to give each other. It was a real hug, an-arm-across-the-shoulder-and-an-arm-around-the-around-the-middle-of-his-back-stepping-in-close-together-hips-touching kind of a hug.<p>

It was their normal hug, manly back pounding optional. The hug they gave when they were feeling good. The hug they gave when they were hurting. The hug they gave when there were scared, they were lost, or they were feeling down. It was their hug.

They had survived their second full moon, mauling kept to a minimum. A movie marathon, pizza, the works were called for. Except there wasn't time. So maybe they'd have to settle for a hug.

* * *

><p>It was normal when Scott came over, after Alison wouldn't speak to him. Maybe the massage wasn't <em>usual<em>, but even looking back, it seemed normal. Mostly. How long ago had it been? Years? Months? Weeks? A cough wracked through him. A warm hand gently pressed against his bare chest, while another rubbed his back soothingly. Weeks? Surely it couldn't have been weeks. Stiles felt like he had been sick for an eternity. Maybe two. He leaned back into Scott's heat, his fever making him shiver as he slipped in and out of consciousness, memory taking him back a couple of weeks.

* * *

><p>Stiles heard the front door open and close, but he kept working on his computer. He had just found an interesting reference to a text he had been reading about pack dynamics and the role of the Alpha. Crosschecking and cross-referencing seemed to help sift through the fact and fiction. And if they could figure out a way for Scott to resist the Alpha's call, all the better. <em>Hm…maybe I should check this against…<em>

Arms wrapped around him and he was flying through the air before he could finish the thought. He landed on the bed with a thump, breath knocked out of him, the arms still trapping him. Taking a moment to get his bearings (and wait for his heart to slow down), he tried to figure out what had just happened. Turning his head, he looked at who was holding him. Ah, Scott.

"You okay there, buddy?"

Scott just grunted in response, opening his eyes briefly with a flash of amber, before curling tighter around Stiles. Trying to slow down his heart, Stiles shifted around to face Scott. He tucked his arm under Scott's neck and drew random patterns on Scott's back with the other. The attempts to talk with Allison weren't working too well. As in, they weren't happening. She was screening Scott's calls and the administration had canceled school today, for the police investigation, so he couldn't see her then.

"You want to…talk…about it?"

Another grunt. Stiles sighed. _Why don't they have a section in the best friend manual on what to do when you're best friend is bitten by a werewolf, then transforms into a werewolf, and then starts dating (and is subsequently dumped by) a girl who's family is actively trying to kill said best friend slash werewolf because of all of the werewolf-related secrets he's keeping to keep her safe? Really, would that be too much to ask?_ Stiles sighed again.

Scott let go of Stiles with one of his arms; Stiles felt the scrape of claws as his hand was pulled underneath Scott's shirt. Stiles kept drawing random patterns on the bare skin, feeling the tension underneath his touch.

"Dude, you're…really tense. And, wow, being wolfed out? Totally adds muscle density."

Scott half-heartedly growled, cracking his still amber eyes open to glare at Stiles. Grinning back, Stiles pulled free from the teen wolf's arms and climbed onto Scott's back. Before either of them could think too much, Stiles straddled his friend's hips and started tugging on the shirt. Scott groaned in protest, but Stiles was persistent. With a bit of tug of war and some clever maneuvering, they managed to get Scott's shirt off without dislodging Stiles.

Stiles started at the shoulders, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles, noting how much warmer Scott's body was. He hummed tunelessly as he worked, trying to find any knots. Scott growled slightly when Stiles' hands found one, but sighed in satisfaction when it loosened. Stiles worked his way up to gently scratch Scott's scalp, running his hands through the messy mop of hair, before working his way down the spine.

Stiles lost himself in the motions, though part of him noted how Scott reacted to the touch. At some point, the amber left his eyes. The claws returned to nails. Some of the extra muscle mass melted away.

As Stiles worked, Scott talked, about this and that. He talked about school while Stiles massaged Scott's spine, about Allison when Stiles reached his lower back, about everything tied in with being a werewolf as Stiles worked back up. Despite the topics, the tension didn't return. Stiles pressed long strokes along Scott's back as the teen wolf sighed deeply, the silence only interrupted by Stiles' humming. Occasionally, Scott would think of something else and he would start speaking again. Slowly though, the muscles beneath Stiles' hands relaxed as Scott ran out of words.

Finding no more knots, Stiles flexed his hands; they were a bit tired from the massage. He rolled onto his side next to Scott, watching him carefully. Scott's eyes were closed, but some of the lines had left his face. Stiles went back to drawing random patterns on the tan skin, their breathing the only sound in the room. In, out, in, out. In through the nose, out through the mouth, over and over. Scott opened his eyes, blinking slowly at Stiles.

"Thanks," Scott whispered into the still air.

Stiles just nodded in response, hands still dancing along the lines of muscle, tracing the shoulder blades, feeling the knobs of the spine. In, out, in, out. Silently, Scott turned to face Stiles, tugging on his friend's shirt. Another round of struggling has them both shirtless and Scott pushed Stiles onto his belly and climbed on him, reversing their earlier position.

Sighing as Scott's hands massaged his shoulders, Stiles let his mind and mouth wander. He knew Scott wouldn't mind.

* * *

><p>So yeah, maybe the massages weren't exactly usual, but they weren't exactly…<em>not<em> normal. And they seemed more normal as they had continued over the next few days. It helped relieve some of the tension, helped ground them.

_But…_

Stiles shifted back again, amazed at how Scott still felt warm, despite his own feverish skin. _But, this…this might be a little bit, not quite normal. _Though Stiles certainly hadn't complained when his friend had climbed into bed with him earlier today.

* * *

><p>Somehow, Stiles had caught a bug. A flu, probably, which was normal, really. Out of place, given everything else that was going on, but it was an almost refreshingly normal problem to have to deal with. Rotate fluids, lots of bed rest, stay warm. Just normal sick day stuff. And Scott had come in after school, which was also pretty normal; they usually dropped by to see each other during sick days, bearing soup or lozenges or entertainment.<p>

This time, though, Scott hadn't come in with soup or gossip; instead, he had stripped down to his boxers, climbed under the nested layers of comforters, quilts, and blankets, and wrapped himself around Stiles like a living hot water bottle. Stiles had melted into the warmth, thinking, _Really, should this feel weird? Maybe it should feel weird._

Then Scott had whimpered in concern, a quiet sound of concern and nuzzled Stiles neck, trying to cover as much of the fevered skin as he could. He had held Stiles, gently nuzzling and stroking. The extra heat had helped soothe some of the aches and Stiles had felt himself drifting to sleep, too tired to resist or question.

* * *

><p>Now though, Stiles was awake and he was thinking again. <em>Should this feel weird? 'cause this isn't really normal. Normal teenagers don't cuddle their sick friends. They drop off homework, get water or make cookies. They call or bring videos.<em> Hugs? Sure, hugs were normal. People hugged all the time; some people just hugged more often. Massages, okay, sure, massages could be normal. Maybe the fact that they were almost daily since that night at school was a little different, but passable. _So maybe I should ask. Check, if this is normal, 'cause the fever is probably screwing with my head. Or something._

"Hey Scott…?"

"Yeah?"

'_cause, even if this doesn't feel weird, it probably is. I mean, what if someone saw us? What would they think? They wouldn't think it was normal. They would probably think it was weird. Odd. Strange, even. So, yeah, I should ask._

…

…

…_except…_

…_except…what does it matter? What does it matter what other people think?_

…

_How long has it been just been me and Scott? Er, Scott and me? Scott and I? I and Scott? Well, sometimes it's been Scott, and me, and dad, and Mrs. McCall. And now, it's even Derek and Allison sometimes, 'cause even I can tell that he's a part of us, even if he won't admit it and she totally misses Scott as much as he misses her and she's a part of us and this and...and, you know, does anyone else really matter?_

'_cause at least Dad and Mrs. McCall and Derek and Alison would be okay with it, even if they wouldn't totally understand, but they kind of would and it doesn't matter what normal is, because maybe it's _notnormal_, but at the same time it _is_ and it's us and it's Scott and it feels really good and I need this and Scott needs it and I…it…we…it…it just feels good. So, screw normal. Normal hasn't been a part of my life for a while now. So maybe this is our normal._

"…thanks."

Stiles felt Scott nod. "Go to sleep Stiles," he whispers. "You'll feel better in the morning."

…_I feel pretty good right now._


	9. Everyone is an idiot at 16

Title: Everyone is an idiot at 16

Author's note: This is an expansion of sorts to "Ficlet: Derek." I would really appreciate thoughts on whether Derek or Stiles seem out-of-character here. Does the end seem too easy again?

Thanks for all of the great reviews. I will go back and rework "This is normal" with your great suggestions. Thanks to everyone for reading.

The first part is set the same night as Wolf's Bane/Co-Captain, shortly after the hospital and locker room scenes. It progresses over the next two nights after that.

Spoiler warning: Major spoilers for all of season 1, especially episodes 9 and on ("Wolf's Bane" and onwards).

Disclaimer: I don't own "Teen Wolf" or any of its associated materials.

* * *

><p>Derek jumped up onto the window sill, sliding it open and slipping in silently. A ball hit his chest immediately.<p>

"Derek, get the hell out of my room!"

Derek growled at the teen. Stiles was already launching another ball, lacrosse stick in hand. Derek caught the ball, tempted to throw it back at the teen. "What the hell are you doing, Stiles?"

Stiles glared at the werewolf, readying another ball to throw at him. "What am I doing? What am _I_ doing? _What the_ _hell are you doing?" _the teen shouts, launching another ball. He yells in frustration when Derek just catches the ball again. "Why did you come back here? You're all buddy-buddy with your uncle now! Go shack up with him!"

Derek felt his teeth elongating, nails lengthening into claws as he thinks about his uncle, about his sister, about the entire night. This time, he threw the ball back at the teen. "Do you think I had a choice?" he managed to grind out. "Do you have any idea what I'm going through right now? My Uncle _killed my sister._ He's been _lying to me_ this entire time." The pressure thrumming in his head invaded his entire body. He had to move.

"Do you know what it was like? Seeing him standing there? Telling me…no, _justifying_ what he had done? _Justifying_ _Laura's death_? Do you know what it's like, knowing I _need him _to take out the hunters? To take out _Kate_?"

He squeezed his fist, sinking the claws into his palm, thinking about the murderess. He tried to ground himself with the pain, ignoring the blood dripping down his hands. "He's the last of my family. _The last_…and killing him will give me my revenge. _Do you have any idea what that feels like_? _To think about losing the last of your family?_" he roars. "_Can you even imagine it_?"

He can feel his lungs heaving, panic and anger and desperation and hate and pain and fear and _everything_ swirling in his mind. He gulped for air, trying to find his center, trying to get control of himself. Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter killed Laura. The darkness threatened to close in on him, that sentence bludgeoning his consciousness. Uncle Peter. Who always hated taking a life without need. Laura, his rock, his Alpha, his one reason to get up in the morning.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA STILES? DO YOU? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE SOMEONE?" Derek was shouting, not caring who heard, not caring about what he sounded like, just wanting to hit something, to run away from it all, to be released. He just wanted it all to end, for his sister to come back, for his Alpha to step in and tell him that it was time for the kids to go play while the adults made the decision.

He turned away from the boy, facing the window, trying to breathe in the cool night air, trying to clear his head. He took great gulping breaths of fresh air, not caring that they sounded altogether too much like sobs. Just a few hours ago, he had been frustrated with Stiles for using him as eye candy and was set to take out the Alpha. A few hours ago, his decisions were clear, simple. A few hours ago, he didn't know the identity of Laura's killer and it didn't matter. A few hours ago, he knew he had the tentative support of two boys. He stared at the night sky. A few hours ago, he wasn't contemplating killing his uncle. And he hadn't had any doubts he would be able to find his revenge and move on, leaving behind all of these memories and…

…a hand touched his shoulder.

The werewolf whirled around, claws out and ready to strike; they stopped within inches of the teen's throat. Eyes wide, Stiles tried to swallow, eyes twitching when the action brushed his throat even closer to the deadly weapons. Derek was panting, just as frozen as Stiles was, both their arms raised. The teen reeked of fear, his heart racing, and his eyes locked on the claws. Swallowing, his heart pounding, Derek lowered his arm. When he tried to take a step back, Stiles put his hand back on the werewolf's shoulder. At Derek's warning growl, Stiles' heart raced even faster, but Derek was surprised the teen didn't let it show on his face.

"What?" Derek growled. "Aren't you going to pelt me with more balls? Defend your best friend against the big bad wolf?"

Stiles swallowed again and shrugged in response, keeping his hand on Derek's shoulder. Licking his lips, he tried to formulate a response over his racing heart. "I…I'm sorry. About that." He cleared his throat. "And I, uh, I didn't say thank you. For saving me today."

Derek remained silent, watching the teen. Staring into the brown irises, trying to use the teen's racing heartbeat and the familiar scent spiked with fear to ground himself, distract himself from thinking. Tried to get control again, while he watched Stiles raise another hand, to place it on Derek's other shoulder.

"Do you, ah, do you want a hug?"

Derek snarled at the teen, thrusting himself towards the teen's jugular. Was Stiles really so stupid as to insult him? Now?

Stiles flinched back but didn't let go, his eyes earnest next to the fear. Derek stopped himself with his fangs inches from the teen's face. He could feel the teen's breath ghosting across his face, touched with the scent of peppermint. Stiles watched carefully as the werewolf felt the teen's arms slowly pulling them closer.

"Stiles…" Derek growled, unsure of whether he meant the growl to be a warning or something else. His hesitation allowed the younger boy to pull them together, their chests awkwardly pressed against one another. Derek raised his arms, not sure whether he should pull the teen closer or push him away, not even sure whether he _wanted _to push the teen away.

"I, uh, I don't know what to say," the teen mumbled into Derek's shoulder. "But…but, I mean, I've been doing some research about werewolves and how they're pretty tactile and I know Scott's been a lot more touchy lately and I know you lost your pack." Derek felt himself growl at that and Stiles quickly continued. "And I know it's not much, but maybe I could kind of be here for now and I know what it's like to lose someone and it really sucks and it helped a little when someone would just give me a hug and I'm sorry for throwing balls at you and thanks again for saving me, so please don't kill me if you don't like this, because that might be kind of a waste of effort earlier and I could really use a response here, 'cause I know this is awkward and uncomfortable and we don't have to talk about it again, but just…thanks. And I'm sorry. For everything."

Derek wasn't sure when his arms had found their way around the teen or when his head sank to rest on the teen's or when it had become so hard to let go, but he found that he really, really couldn't. He was gulping for breath again. Numbness filled his mind and he didn't even know if he was thinking anymore. He felt like he was just floating, as if Stiles were to let him go he was just going to float away, like the only thing that was real was the pressure of Stiles' hands moving against his back. Maybe everything else was just a nightmare.

"…Stiles…" Vaguely, Derek was aware of how much that sounded like begging. Like a whimper. Of how thick his voice felt, how he was trying to talk around a giant lump in his throat. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump. "Stiles…please don't…don't let go."

He felt Stiles nodding against his shoulder, hugging Derek tighter. "I…I won't."

* * *

><p>Derek had been relieved when, the next morning, Stiles hadn't said anything about the night before. He had just untangled himself from Derek and the sheets, grumbling as he hit the off button on his alarm clock and picked-up his backpack. The teen made sure Derek knew where the bathroom was and told him he could help himself to food in the kitchen while getting dressed for school. Derek hadn't been surprised that Stiles paused awkwardly before leaving the room, but Derek had just nodded and the teen headed out the door.<p>

Derek had been surprised, when Stiles had offered to share his bed again that night.

The teen had come home and started working on homework. He had briefly gone downstairs, coming back with several large sandwiches, silently offering a few to Derek. They hadn't spoken much. Stiles worked on his homework and Derek…Derek was mostly pretending to read some of the texts Stiles had on werewolves. He had made a few notes for Stiles, but mostly his mind was thinking about his uncle, the hunters, and the teen in front of him. He was proving to be more than just an annoyance, but he wasn't sure exactly what Stiles was.

When Stiles had finally decided to call it quits for the night, going to brush his teeth, Derek pulled some pillows and blankets from a hall closet he had found earlier. When Stiles walked back into the room, he just raised his eyebrows at the pile on the floor before heading to bed.

He slipped under the covers and then turned to Derek. "You coming in or what?" he had asked, lifting the blankets.

Derek had blinked in response, waving a hand at the blankets on the floor. The eye roll and snort he had gotten in response were surprisingly expected.

"Stop being such a sour wolf and just admit you like cuddling with me. Now come on. We've got a long day ahead of us."

Derek had hesitated, but the look Stiles gave him brooked no nonsense. So Derek found himself wrapped in Stiles' arms, trying not to think about thunderstorms and little brothers and wondering how different Stiles was from a little boy who should have been the same age.

Despite that, Stiles was right. It did feel…good to hold someone.

* * *

><p>The morning followed the same routine as the last. Stiles just untangled himself from Derek, complaining about school without mentioning the night before. He left the werewolf stewing, wondering just what the teen was up to. Suspicions filled his mind. <em>Why is he doing this? What does he want? Why does he put up with any of it?<em>

The werewolf decided to confront the teen when he got home. He was going to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, he scoured Stiles' notes and research, determined to see how much the teen knew.

"Hey Dad…who isn't home. Of course." Derek heard Stiles mutter to himself. The werewolf decided to wait for the teen to finish before confronting him. When he heard the sounds of the teen working in the kitchen, he decided to go downstairs to talk with Stiles.

When he found him, it looked like the kitchen had exploded. Food had been pulled out of the cupboards and fridge, covering half of the counter space. In the middle of it, Stiles was chopping vegetables, two pots simmering behind him. He didn't look up when Derek walked over to the stove to check on the simmering pots.

"Could you add the pasta to the bigger pot?"

Derek complied silently, his mind still focused on teasing out the teen's intentions. He had spent all day wondering as he perused the teen's research materials. The more he thought about it, the danger the teen had put himself in, the way he disregarded the threats and the rough treatment, the more frustrated and anxious Derek felt about the teen's intentions. It just didn't make sense.

Stiles added some spices and vegetables to the second pot, which was looking like a sauce. He hummed to himself as he worked, engrossed in the process. While the pasta cooked and the sauce simmered, Stiles tossed together a salad and handed Derek a loaf of bread to slice and toast. When they finished, Stiles packed some away into large Tupperware containers.

"I'm going to go eat with my dad. Help yourself."

Derek nodded, still silently fuming over the teen's intentions as Stiles headed out the door. The werewolf served himself and ate. He would use the time to figure out more of what the teen had figured out about werewolves; the teen had found quite a bit already and Derek wanted to see how the teen was might be planning to manipulate the information.

* * *

><p>Stiles didn't come home until late. He barely even jumped when he flicked on the light in his room to see Derek glaring at him.<p>

"Hey. Is being creepy a werewolf thing? 'cause Scott is starting to do that too."

Derek decided enough was enough. "Why are you doing this?"

Stiles blinked at him wearily. "Doing…what? Being sarcastic? Because that's kind of my thing."

Derek growled in frustration. "You know what I mean. Why? What are you getting out of this?"

"Well, you know, I've always enjoyed death threats so…"

Derek cut him off by pushing him against the wall.

"Oh and being shoved against walls? So awesome."

"Don't mess with me, Stilinski! What. Do you. _Want_?"

Stiles struggled weakly against the werewolf, settling on glaring at him. "Dude, what's your problem? Has it occurred to you, that _maybe,_ I'm just helping a friend out? You know what friends are, right? They do that for each other. Help. Now let me go."

Derek bared his fangs. "Stop lying!"

"I'm not lying! Can't you do that weird thing with my heartbeat or whatever to tell that? Some werewolf you are."

Growling, Derek had to admit that he hadn't heard a lie. "Why are you being so…nice? You don't even trust me."

"No. I guess I don't. And neither does Scott." Stiles scrubbed his face in frustration. "I don't know, okay? You're hurting. And I know what that's like. And, yeah, you can be a scary jerk. But that doesn't mean deserve that. Plus you helped keep Scott from killing anyone, so I guess we owe you. Even if we don't trust you. Completely."

Derek pushed Stiles even harder. "Don't deserve it? Really? And what do you know?"

"I know that the fire wasn't an accident." He didn't stop when Derek growled. "I know that the hunters were involved; the police records suggest as much. And I know they probably bought the inspectors off."

"Did you know that the fire was my fault? That I was the one that told the hunters about my family? Don't you think I deserve it _now_?" Derek's jaw ached from clenching his teeth. It felt like Stiles' words crawled under Derek's skin, made him itch and ache. It was something about the horrible knowing look in his eyes.

"Did you do it on purpose?"

"_WHAT?"_

"Did you do it on purpose?"

"No!"

"Did you know what you were doing?"

"Of course not!"

"Would you change it if you could?"

"Yes. I would give _anything_ to change it."

Stiles shrugged. "Then no, I still don't think you deserve feeling this way. Because it wasn't your fault."

Derek blinked in confusion. Somehow, the conversation was getting away from him. He stared at the teen, pressed against the wall. _What is this kid's problem?_

Stiles sighed. "Look, you were 16. You were an idiot. Everyone is an idiot at 16; trust me, I'm in high school, I'm painfully aware of that. Whatever happened, however they tricked you, it wasn't your fault. So, no, you don't deserve to feel this way. Okay? So that's why I'm doing this. And because, in some weird way, we're in this together, whether you want to admit it or not. You need this. And, maybe I do too. Now shut up and come to bed. I'm tired."

Derek finally released the teen. His heart rate hadn't changed at all through the entire exchange. Somehow, Stiles had been sincere about all of it. Derek sighed, scrubbing his face in confusion. _What was that teen thinking?_

Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek and pulled him to bed. "Stop thinking. Go to sleep."

Derek sighed again. "…thanks."

Stiles shrugged, sleepily responding, "Hey, what's a pack for?"

…_damn perceptive teenager._


	10. An attempted rescue

Title: An attempted rescue

Author's note: As others on the forums have pointed out that the scene between Stiles and Scott about finding the missing Derek seemed a little out-of-character for Stiles so here's an explanation for Stiles' attitude (sort of). I feel like any story I write with Stiles and Derek developing a relationship or fondness for each other, I'm going to have to explain Stiles' attitude in "Formality." I'm going to have to brainstorm lots of explanations.

Another double-update, because "An attempted rescue" was written around the time I uploaded "Cuddling with claws out." There is going to be a long time before the next update though.

Spoiler warning: Major spoilers for all of season 1, especially episodes 9 and on ("Wolf's Bane" and onwards).

Disclaimer: I don't own "Teen Wolf" or any of its associated materials.

* * *

><p>Stiles watched as his best friend frantically searched for the missing phone.<p>

"Call it again."

"It's not here. So you lost your phone. Why don't you just get a new one?"

"I can't afford a new one. We need Derek. I can't do this alone. We have to find Derek."

_Great, I was hoping that wasn't what you were thinking_. "Well, A, you're not alone. You have me! And B, didn't you say Derek walked into gunfire? He sounds pretty dead."

"They're going to use Derek to get to the Alpha. They're not going to kill him."

"Okay, so just…let them do what they're planning. They use Derek to get Peter. Problem solved." _And without you sticking your neck into even more danger_.

"Not if Peter is using Allison to find Derek. I can't protect her on my own. Which means, we need to find Derek first! Look, would you please just help me?"

_That's what I'm trying to do, except you keep insisting on GETTING YOURSELF KILLED_ is what Stiles doesn't yell at his best friend. Instead, he says, "Dude, You probably lost it when you two were fighting. You remember that? When he was trying to kill you? After you interrupted him from trying to kill Jackson. Are you starting to see a pattern of violent behavior here?"

"He wasn't going to kill anyone. And I'm not letting him die."

Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He had a good feeling that he knew where Scott's phone was, but he wasn't going to let Scott put himself into danger, again. Sighing internally, he reviewed his preparations for the evening. "Could you at least _think_ about letting him die? For me?"

Scott paused his search, his eyes looking far away. "What?" Stiles asked, frustrated.

"My mom just got home from work."

"Is she okay"

Scott shakes his head.

"What's she doing?"

"Crying."

_Okay, well maybe you should do something about that and let me worry about our other resident werewolf._

* * *

><p>The bald man left the tunnel, right on time. Stiles sighed in relief, as he cursed his own recklessness. At least the man seemed to be following his schedule, which meant there was at least half an hour for Stiles to find Derek and get him out. The teen gave the hunter another five minutes, before taking a deep breath and entering the tunnel.<p>

A musty, dank smell hit his nose immediately. A shiver ran down his back. In the fading light, it seemed very much like a classic dungeon. Stiles expected a hunter to jump out at any moment. Taking another steadying breath, he quickly hurried down the dark passage.

He stumbled over something, making a loud clattering. Cursing silently, he leaned against the wall and reached in his bag for a flashlight. He had stumbled over a rusted kettle. _Really? What the heck? Why is there a freaking _kettle_ in the middle of this creepy tunnel of horrors? Gah!_

Pushing off the wall, Stiles continued down the tunnel, keeping one hand on the wall to help him find his way. Thankfully, the tunnel didn't have any branches until he reached a T-intersection, with a large metal door at the end. As he approached the door, he could hear a familiar growl and chains rattling. _Bingo_.

Sliding open the door, he couldn't help but gasp at the sight. Derek was hanging by his wrists on a nasty, medieval-looking rack. Sweat and old blood stained his chest, with multicolored bruises stark against his skin. A bright light was shining on his face, with an odd set of wires attached to his side. What were they doing to him? And why hadn't the bruises healed yet? Was Derek so bad off that he couldn't even heal anymore?

"…Stiles?"

The hoarse whisper broke Stiles out of his reverie. Dropping his bag with a clang, Stiles rushed over to Derek. "Oh. My. God. Derek! Are you…how do I get you out of these shackles? Is there a key? Or, like a switch or something? I don't think there's anyone else here, is there?" His hands fluttered gently across the werewolf's face, wincing at the coolness of the skin and Derek's flinch.

Derek coughed, shaking his head as though to clear it. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing here?" the werewolf asked as Stiles opened his bag and pulled out his tools.

Stiles spared a glance at Derek, before turning his attention to the shackles. The bolt cutters he had brought weren't doing the trick. He explained as he continued his attempts to pry the shackles off. "You took Scott's phone. Urgh. And I tracked you with the GPS. Argh! Open, damn it! So I came to get you out. Freakin-!" The bolt cutters slipped off the shackles again.

"Stiles…where's Scott?" Derek panted.

"I…I didn't tell him. I came by myself."

"What? Stiles wh-"

Stiles cut him off. "Scott is already in too much danger. The hunters probably aren't going to hurt a human." _If they ask questions before shooting…_

"Stiles, these monsters are the type to shoot first, ask questions later." Derek growled.

Stiles grunted. Derek had practically read his mind. "Well, at least that would give my da-…the sheriff a reason to look more closely at everything, wouldn't it?" Stiles tried to suppress a grimace. He knew this was a stupid risk. But Scott was right. They needed Derek. And he _really_ didn't want to think about what would happen to his father. Who would check his fry habit? Or make sure he slept? Who would take care of him? But Stiles had a feeling he had a better chance of talking his way out a situation. Definitely better chances compared to a teen werewolf. Damn, he couldn't find any way to get Derek out of the rack. There had to be a way. They were running of time.

Derek tilted his head. The groan of the gate faintly came down the tunnel. "Stiles! He's coming back! You have to get out of here!"

"Freakin…" Stiles eyes went wide. _I still have a few minutes, but…I don't think this is going to work. _Stiles grimaced. "I'm not leaving you here."

Derek snarled at him. "You can't save anyone by being a hero here, Stiles. Get out of here. Go down the tunnel; there's a side room you can use to hide. Wait until I give you a signal to get the hell out of here."

Stiles glared at the werewolf. He knew it was the best plan, but it made his stomach roil. Those bruises. And those wires, going to what looked like a car battery. He practically snarled himself. _Damn it…_

Stiles growled again in frustration. He had maybe two minutes to get out. He gave the wires another look. Grabbing his bolt cutters, he cut two of the wires and tucked them behind the others. At least that might break the circuit, keep them from using whatever it was. He hoped. "Derek…"

"Go!"

Stiles pressed his forehead against Derek's, looking deep into his hazel eyes. "We are coming back here for you. We are _not _leaving you like this. Just…just hang on, okay Derek?" Stiles needed Derek to answer, to say he understood they weren't abandoning him, to just _be okay_.

Derek breathed heavily, staring back before giving him a sharp nod. "Go. Now. Hide!"

With one last squeeze to the werewolf's shoulder, Stiles ran out of the room, a suspicious burning in his eyes. They _were_ going to save Derek. He couldn't consider the alternatives.


	11. Fights, pancakes, explanations, and hugs

Title: Fights, pancakes, explanations (and hugs!)

Author's note: Two chapters ("Cuddling with claws out" and "This is normal") have been modified to address some of the great constructive criticism in the reviews. Thanks for the suggestions and thoughts. If you feel like it, let me know what you think of the changes.

The pacing in this chapter seems off to me. I'd appreciate any thoughts you have about the chapter's pacing, the chapter in general, or the collection as a whole.

I'm marking "Touch" as complete with this chapter. I have an idea for a Jackson-centric chapter, except that I'd like to fill some prompts from Teen Wolf Kink first. Keep an eye out for them in the next few weeks at my Live Journal (username: twistedceles, .com).

Thanks for reading.

Spoiler warning: Major spoilers for all of season 1, especially episodes 9 and on ("Wolf's Bane" and onwards).

Disclaimer: I don't own "Teen Wolf" or any of its associated materials.

* * *

><p>Scott growled, eyes glowing amber. "What are <em>you<em> doing here?"

"Cute, Scott." Derek rolled his eyes at the display. "Look, I'm your Alpha now. Which means when I tell you to come to training, you don't ignore me for a week."

Scott's growl increased in volume, deepening. "Yeah, you're the Alpha now. Because you took away the _one chance_ I had of being human again! Of being normal! _Why should I listen to anything you say?_"

Derek, losing his patience, returned the growl as his own eyes began to glow. "Don't push me, pup."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa guys! Let's not get all wolfed-out here." Stiles waved his hands, trying to diffuse some of the tension in the room. "Can't we just talk it out? You know, without the claws?"

The two werewolves ignored him, locked in their stare down. Stiles bit his lip as he saw the signs they were shifting. A part of his mind was fascinated with the controlled shifts, watching their claws inch longer and their shoulder muscles thicken. The rest of him was calculating how much noise and damage his room could withstand before the neighbors called the cops. Who just happened to be his dad. _Man, sometimes being the sheriff's son kind of sucks..._

The two werewolves continued growling, each lowering into a fighting stance. When they started circling one another, Stiles began to panic a little. _Okay…so…what do I know about pack dynamics? If Derek is the Alpha and Scott is a Beta…oh hell…_

It looked like Scott was challenging Derek for the position of Alpha. Whether or not that would involve a fight to the death between the werewolves, Stiles was _pretty sure_ his dad was going to kill him for the resulting property damage. Or possibly the secrets he had been keeping. Maybe both. _So…how do I defuse this situation?_

_Oh crap…_

Stiles just realized the werewolves were circling _around _him, putting Stiles in the middle of a werewolf battle. _Probably time to figure out what to do now. Before the rending of flesh begins._

"Hey guys? Could you put the claws away? Tender, squishy human here. You don't want to accidentally maul me, right?"

If Derek backed down, then he would be conceding to Scott's challenge, which would make Scott the Alpha. Stiles thought about the possibility of Scott leading their little wolf pack. _Yeah…not such a good idea_. So that means Stiles had to make Scott retract his challenge.

The werewolves weren't responding to his words, so maybe it was time for action. Taking a deep breath, Stiles slowly walked towards Scott, his hands open and in front of him. Scott's glowing amber eyes never left Derek's. Reaching up gingerly, Stiles put his hand on the back of Scott's neck and massaged the tense muscles gently.

"Hey buddy. Let's just, calm down and talk about this okay? I really don't need my dad to come home to a wreck where my room used to be." Stiles felt Scott lean into his hand. Stiles continued the massage, grinning a little when Scott let out a quiet whine of pleasure; his claws shrank to normal nails and the teen werewolf's eyes slipped closed.

Stiles slowly pulled him into a gentle hug, murmuring what he hoped were calming reassurances. "There, there. Yes, let's relax. No need to, uh, fight and stuff. Ripping up the furniture…bad idea. Right? Right…" Okay, so maybe they weren't the _best _reassurances, but it seemed to be working.

Suddenly, Stiles felt rush of air and _heat_ behind him. Derek. The older werewolf whined, almost begging for permission. Stiles could feel the Derek breathing hard on the back of his neck, asking. Grinning slightly, the teen reached back and pulled Derek in closer.

The two werewolves pressed against him gently, leaning into him. Stiles noticed that, as they lost themselves in the moment, the werewolves tentatively reached out for one another as well. One of Derek's hands slipped under Stile's shirt to stroke his sides, while the other covered Stiles' hand on Scott's neck. Scott reached around Stiles to pet Derek's back, while pulling them both closer.

The extra heat from his brothers was getting a little uncomfortable, so Stiles slipped his hand from under Derek's and started tugging his own shirt off. The two werewolves almost purred in pleasure and the rest of their clothes quickly flew off, leaving them all clad in their underwear. They tumbled together on the bed, pushing and pulling each other like a pile of enthusiastic puppies; luckily, the werewolves were careful to keep their claws retracted.

Soon, though, a wave of tiredness swept through Stiles. A quiet bouquet of scents seemed to surround him, bathing him in feelings of calm and safety, like when he and Scott had stayed at Derek's place during the full moon. Stiles felt his brothers lulled by the mixture of their scents as well.

They would have to talk in the morning, about the Alpha and what it meant to be in a pack and why Derek did what he did. Stiles yawned widely. That discussion was for tomorrow; somehow, Stiles had a feeling the conversation would look better in the morning.

"G'night guys." The werewolves mumbled in response, nuzzling closer at his neck and chest, their arms and legs loosely tangled around one another. _Ah, pack._

* * *

><p>A bright light hit his eyes. With a groan, he turned away from the offending light. Maybe he could squeeze out a few more minutes of sleep. He knew it was a lost battle, but he had to try anyways. As he adjusted the blankets, he reached across the bed, petting the cool sheets next to him. <em>Still missing you… <em>Smiling sadly to himself, he murmured a quiet greeting to the morning and the space next to him.

Giving up on sleep, the sheriff slipped out of bed and pulled on a bathrobe. Stretching, he felt more than heard his joints crack. If he was going to be up, he was going to make Stiles keep him company. At least the town had quieted down with the mysteries wrapped-up. It seemed like they had slipped into a lull over the weeks after the homicide/suicide at the Hale residence. Just in time for his first day off in weeks, too, with the paperwork from that mess finally finished. With another yawn, he headed to Stiles' room.

Knocking on the door with one hand, he opened it with another and poked his head in. "Hey, Stiles. Get up and help me make some breakfast."

He got a groan in response, as the bed's occupant shifted around. The bed looked a little…lumpier than usual. A tanned foot slipped out from under the covers. Stiles' feet weren't that tan. Another shift in the bed and two heads poked up. One of them was Stiles'. The other was…

"…Scott?"

The two teens blinked at the man of the house owlishly. A groan came from under the covers and a third lump sat up in bed, pushing the covers down and revealing that the teens were not wearing much; and one, very naked (this fact seemed quite important) Derek Hale. In bed. With his son. It was the Sheriff's turn to blink owlishly at the bed's three occupants.

Stiles' eyes opened wide as his sleep-addled brain finally caught up with the present. The Sheriff could practically see his son's brain working, taking in his father in the doorway and putting that together with the two (Naked. Very naked, the sheriff's mind unhelpfully reminded him) males in bed next to him.

"Dad!" he yelped. "Um…this isn't… um…"

The sheriff turned around. _Too much naked for this hour._ "I'll see you boys at breakfast. And, Stiles? We need to talk."

* * *

><p>As the door closed, Scott saw Stiles collapse back onto the bed. "Oh my god…" His friend hid his face in a pillow, probably hoping that that had just been a horrifically real nightmare. Grinning, Scott gently pinched Stiles in the arm.<p>

"Hey, what was that for?"

Scott smiled cheekily. "Just checking if that was a nightmare for you."

Stiles rubbed his arm, frowning at his friend. "You're supposed to pinch yourself," he grumbled. "And now my dad thinks I'm in a weird gay threesome with you two."

Scott had to laugh at his friend's melodramatics. "I'm surprised your dad hadn't caught on weeks ago. I guess those ninja lessons have been working out, eh Derek?"

His alpha shrugged, stretching unconcernedly. "Maybe. Except you're still like a tip-toeing elephant."

Scott frowned, attempting to punch his alpha in the arm. Predictably, Derek caught his hand before he could reach. A small tussle ensued, the two werewolves knocked out of bed as Scott tried (and failed) to prove to Derek that he wasn't an elephant. Panting, Scott was pinned face down with Derek on top of him. Scott laughed suddenly.

"You know, if he walked in right now, it wouldn't do much to dispel the notion that we _are_ in a threesome."

He felt Derek shift a little, taking in their current position. Derek huffed a quiet almost-chuckle in response.

The older wolf had both of Scott's legs tangled and pinned underneath his own, with one of the teen's hand twisted back. But at least Scott had managed to trap one of the older wolf's hands underneath him, so Derek didn't have enough leverage to move much either. The hand trapped under Scott forced Derek to lean over Scott's neck. And given their almost nude state of dress, it definitely looked incriminating.

"Yeah, except you'd have a snowball's chance in hell of catching my interest."

Scott struggled uselessly, turning his head to look at Derek. With an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows he asked, "What? I'm not your type? After all the nights we've slept together? See, I knew that you were just using me to get to Stiles!" Another useless struggle to free one of his legs. "But he was mine first!"

Derek shook his head in response. "I'm sure your _hunter_ _girlfriend_ would just love hearing you say that."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "You know, sleeping together has really mellowed you out." He frowned. "And lay-off Alison."

"Yeah, well…having a pack helps."

"Hey, did you hear that Stiles? Derek said you were pack. Out loud. Looks like you lost that bet." Scott craned his neck to look at his friend. He could just barely see the edge of the bed. All he got in response was a half-hearted hum. He frowned at the lack of response from his friend; normally, Stiles would have jumped on the rare acknowledgement that he was part of the pack. Scott felt the older werewolf move off, probably also sensing something was wrong.

Scott sat-up and looked at the bed. Stiles was still lying on the bed, faced covered with a pillow. If it wasn't for the heartbeat beating in time with his own, Scott would have worried his best friend had died of embarrassment or something. Walking over to the bed, he pulled the pillow off Stiles face. "Stiles? What's wrong?"

Stiles opened his eyes, meeting Scott's eyes. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Just. Thinking about how we're going to spin this to my dad." He closed his eyes again, turning his face away from Scott. "Maybe the gay threesome idea would work. We could say we were revisiting our last experiment together."

Scott leaned closer, gently turning Stiles so they could look eye-to-eye again. "Stiles." Scott searched his best friend's eyes. "What's going on?"

Stiles huffed in frustration. "Nothing."

"Stiles. Seriously." Scott gave him his I-might-be-thick-sometimes-but-I'm-your-best-friend-so-don't-treat-me-like-an-idiot look. "What's wrong?"

Letting out a long breath, Stiles looked away from Scott's gaze. "It's just…I don't want to keep lying to my dad."

Scott was surprised, but he pulled his friend close and wrapped him in a tight hug. "So we won't lie." He looked at their Alpha hovering nearby, silently asking for his support. Their eyes met and, after a moment, Derek nodded slowly. The bed dipped as Derek climbed in to hug Stiles from the other side.

"If you wanted to tell him, you just needed to say," the older werewolf said gruffly, but he stroked the fuzz of hair on the back of his human beta's head gently.

Stiles gave a quiet laugh in response, muffled against Scott's chest. Neither of the werewolves asked why it sounded a little watery. "…thanks guys." He cleared his throat. "So, who wants breakfast? My dad makes the best pancakes."

* * *

><p>The sheriff poured more pancake batter onto the skillet. He heard them moving around the room and he braced himself for the upcoming conversation. <em>Just…what is going on? Why were they… and…Derek Hale?<em>

He shook his head. If he was being totally honest, catching Stiles in bed with two other boys had left the father in shock. _What exactly am I supposed to say to him? To them? _He flipped the pancakes. _"So, you're gay. With you best friend, who has a girlfriend (maybe?). And the guy you wrongly accused of murder. Twice."_

Moving the cooked pancakes onto a plate, he poured the last of the batter on the skillet. _And what exactly is Stiles going to say? "Oh yeah, turns out ex-convicts are my type." _The sheriff flipped the pancakes before _that _thought had a chance to go any further.

_Not what I wanted to deal with this morning. _He glanced at the coffee machine, silently willing it to brew faster. _Stiles is going to bug me about drinking coffee, but dang if there was ever a time I need the extra caffeine..._

Moving the last of the pancakes onto the plate, he picked up his mug and the plate, dropping it off at the kitchen table before going for a cup of coffee. _At least it's a darker roast. _He decided that the boys could make their own eggs. _Boys. All of them_. He snorted. Catching Stiles in bed with one boy (_Much less two…)_ certainly wasn't something the single father thought he would have to deal with. Ever.

The sheriff jumped a little when he heard Stiles' bedroom door creak open and footsteps coming down the stairs. He took a sip of his still-too-hot coffee to brace himself. _Here goes nothing._

The three boys (fully dressed, thankfully) crowded in the doorway to the kitchen, watching the sheriff watch them. For a beat, no one said anything; they were all waiting for someone else to make the first move. Rubbing the back of his head, the sheriff decided to start.

"Pancakes are done," he said, gesturing to the plate on the table. Stating the obvious, but at least it broke the silence.

Stiles glanced at the table and then back at his dad. Rubbing the back of his head (the sheriff smiled inside to see his son mimicking his habits), Stiles nodded uncertainly. He glanced back at the two boys behind him; something was silently exchanged between them. Derek nodded and Scott gave the sheriff's son an encouraging nudge. Nodding in return, Stiles turned back to his dad.

"Dad. We're not gay."

The sheriff blinked. _Why are they bothering to deny it? _"Son, it's okay. You don't have to be embarrassed." He cleared his throat. "When I was your age, I admit I did my share of-"

"Dad!" Stiles scandalized face was enough to bring the grin out on his dad's face. "Seriously. Too much information." Closing his eyes, he scrubbed his face and took a deep breath. "We're not gay. What you saw was….was a pack bonding exercise. I'm in a pack of werewolves."

The sheriff blinked. _Okay…_ His training on how to handle a situation involving a potentially unbalanced and mentally ill individual came to the forefront of his mind. "Okay Stiles." He really wanted to say, "That's…one of the worst lies you've ever told. Which is saying something." What he said instead was, "So, you're in a pack of werewolves. How long have you been in this pack, Stiles?"

His son rolled his eyes in response. "Dad, I'm not unbalanced or mentally ill. I really am in a pack of werewolves." He turned to look at his best friend. "Scott? Show him?" Scott nodded. "And dad? Don't freak out. Just…it's, it's okay."

The sheriff looked at his son, before something about Scott caught his eye. Moving most of his attention onto the boy, he kept an eye on his son and Hale. They both looked tense, trying to watch both Scott and the sheriff, both of them somehow moving closer to Scott without seeming to move. But Scott…Scott was breathing heavily now, his eyes closed like he was trying to concentrate on something.

The sheriff frowned. Something about the boy's face…were his bones moving? It was happening slowly, so slowly that the sheriff couldn't even pick out the changes that were happening. But, somehow…somehow Scott's face, wasn't Scott's face anymore. The bones of his brow seemed thicker. And his eyebrows were definitely getting hairier. And…where did those sideburns come from?

The sheriff took a step forward, worried that something was wrong with him. "Stiles? Scott? What's going…on?" Scott had opened his eyes in response to his name, but instead of his normal brown, glowing amber orbs. "What the hell…?"

Stiles put a hand a hand on his friend's neck, gently stroking. Scott seemed to lean into the touch, his breath deepening and easing in response. "You okay?" Stiles asked his friend. When Scott nodded, Stiles turned back to his dad. A slightly triumphant smirk graced his lips, but his eyes seemed uncertain. "Dad…Scott and Derek and I…we're a pack. Of werewolves. Well, except, I'm not a werewolf. But that's what's been going on. With everything lately."

_They really didn't cover this when I was learning to be a parent. _The sheriff stared blankly at his son, Hale, and the creature that stood where Scott had been standing. _No…that's not quite right…_

"Dad…? Could you say something?"

Even with the changes, the sheriff could still see the boy that had grown-up with his son. The cheekbones were moved, yes, but the jawline was still mostly the same. And, even if they had changed color, his eyes still held…something of Scott in them. Looking at his son, the sheriff realized that he should probably say something. What was he supposed to say? "_So you're in a pack of werewolves? Well, at least it's not drugs!"_

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Um…I think we're going to need a lot more pancakes while you explain this to me."

Stiles stepped forward and enveloped his dad in a tight hug. The sheriff pulled his son close, hugging him back. "Thanks dad…"

"Don't thank me just yet. I haven't decided how long you're going to be grounded for keeping this a secret from me." Stiles just huffed out a relieved laugh and hugged his dad even tighter.

_Oh boy…and I thought raising a teen boy was complicated as it was. I really, really wish you were here to help…_


End file.
